


Ruin

by GirlApart5, tokkee



Category: Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Incest, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 05:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlApart5/pseuds/GirlApart5, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokkee/pseuds/tokkee
Summary: N goes to desperate measures to stop his abuse.





	Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't overly tag this nor give it archive warnings because I feel like they spoil things. This is an old collaborative fic between me and my buddy GirlApart5, written back in 2011. A classic ;D I've been super excited with Team Plasma coming up in the recent manga chapters and Ghetsis's appearance in the new game, so I thought I'd, err, celebrate.
> 
> Those tags should be enough to inform you whether you want to read this or not. If you don't want to read it, please be kind to yourself and exit out now~

 

The floor was so cold against naked flesh as it collided with his body. Still, the chill was somehow comforting. Daddy was done, now; the same familiar sound of footsteps echoing off the walls as he left, slightly more uneven than those when he arrived. The warmth of the blood still lingering on his thigh was all the evidence that remained of what had occurred just moments before.

After a brief moment of collecting his thoughts or a troubled nap, he would take a bath and change his clothing, every time without fail. Examine himself in the mirror. Make sure he still recognized himself. Not only was secrecy one of his father's rules, it also kept N's sense of reality sacred. No proof, no evidence or testaments to his "love" kept it out of mind.

This time, N stood in front of the mirror before taking his bath. A stupid decision, he concluded, as he felt tears swell in his eyes.

He could see the various red splotches in the shape of fingers where his father had grabbed him, on his arms and waist and thighs. Though it would take a while for them to fade, they would not bruise. The red and white smears between his legs were hideous, but he found himself staring at them through the blur of salt water despite how it made him cringe. This evidence would be washed away, leaving no trace of how dirty he was, how wretched. His skin would become clear and clean again, while inside he would continue to feel used. Like a porcelain doll stuffed with sawdust.

Daddy called him "perfect." As the boy ran his hand across his pale chest, he could not help but wonder why. His touches were hurtful and violent but never left behind permanent scars; was that on purpose? Were those sometimes soft caresses really admiration and not some sort of sick taunt? N thought he was unappealing, with dark circles under his dull eyes and bones that jutted out of his torso. He couldn't count daddy's ribs. Daddy was strong, had muscles under his skin. That sick body in the mirror was little more than flesh and a lanky skeleton.

So what was “perfection," truly? What did it mean to be beautiful and flawless, for he certainly could not see any of those qualities in himself. Or perhaps he had it all wrong. Perhaps the pale skin, the sunken eyes, and the clearly visible bones _were_ beautiful and perfect? Or at least, that was part of it.

N thought back, remembering with a chill all the moments his father looked at him with a heated gaze and told him he was perfect. It was always when his small body was naked and splayed out beneath him, and those large hands would roam his unblemished skin with something akin to reverence. The key to perfection must lay in his unmarked appearance. No matter how skinny and bloodied, so long as that pure white flesh remained as untouched as new paper, he would be desirable.

But he didn't _want_ to be desirable. He didn't _want_ daddy to show him his "love," to hold him down with such confusingly sweet touches, only to tear through him and cause the same torment over and over and over... even after years of it, the pain and fear were as familiar as the very first night. It was still fresh in his mind, like it had only been yesterday that the man had uttered that word to him...

N wiped the tears off his flushed face as his expression changed from a somber gaze to determined and scorned.

No. No, he would not let it happen again. He _could not_ let it happen again. At any cost.

No amount of false love was worth that stifling agony.

 

Feeling a strange sort of hard coldness settle inside him, N’s eyes roved over his skin once more, contemplating what he would do. What he _could_ do. The only solution was to damage his perfection, but how? How could he make himself undesirable without ruining his destiny to be a hero? It had to be in a place only his father would see, one that could be kept hidden from the rest of the world.

A scar, perhaps. N knew about scars from his friends, whose bodies were littered with the strangely distorted flesh, eternal testaments to their abuse. It took a lot to scar a pokemon, and he knew such things were easily healed, so he would have to think carefully about how he could inflict sufficient damage to himself.

As he considered the possibilities, a memory flashed into his mind. His Vanillite had a special scar, from a terrible burn it had received when it was forced to fight against a Fire type much stronger than itself. N bit his lower lip as he remembered how mottled and melted its flesh looked, the very definition of imperfection. Burns were a hard wound to heal fully, he had learned from his books. It was common for pokemon to suffer permanent burn scars while others faded with time.

However, a burn would be harder to inflict upon himself, as he had no method of starting a fire. That meant he would have to do something very difficult.

Turning away from the mirror, N went to take his bath, all the while his mind churning away like clockwork. By the time he got out, he was set in his decision.

Returning to his room, N walked over to where his Darumaka waited for him with worried eyes.

“Daru,” he said softly, a part of him noting how distant his hollow voice sounded in his ears. “I need your help.”

The pokemon chirped in curiosity, its expression torn. As N was its friend, it agreed quickly, happy to help if he were in need. However, the boy's wavering voice was worrisome. It doubted an easy favor or request.

N ran his hand across his chest before speaking. It was so soft, smooth... was he really prepared to commit to this?

"I..." he stammered, finding the words difficult to force out. "I need... a scar.”

Daru tilted its head in a slight scowl, looking up at the boy with wide, confused eyes.

“I need you to make me ugly, Daru, so...” N took in a sharp inhale. “So daddy will stop hurting me..."

The creature blinked. Surely, Daru had heard wrong? The request seemed so bizarre...

"Please, I..." N bit his lip as tears gathered along his eyelids and his fists shook. "All he ever says is how 'perfect' I am, and... I don't _want_ to be perfect anymore…! I don't care! I just want to be left alone!"

Daru knew how his friend felt and understood his plight. But to cause him such damage... Cooing uncertainly, the small creature reached out to place its tiny paws over N’s trembling hands. There must have been another way?

“Even if it hurts...” N murmured. “Even if it hurts, it’s better than going through the rest of my life like this. So please..!”

Closing its eyes, Daru tried to find some argument against the plea, but came up empty. If this pain, and the scar that would result, could relieve the greater suffering his friend endured, then he...

Looking up again, Daru nodded. He could only hope that N would forgive him for this.

N shut his eyes, fists still shut tightly enough for his nails to dig into his palms. _It won't hurt that much, it will be okay, it's going to be worth it, it will be all right and quick and then daddy w-_

The darumaka generated great heat in its hands before releasing a blast of fire, taking great care to direct the blow only to the boy's torso. As soon as the burst reached skin, N screamed and fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands as the pain set in. The flame singed through his flesh in an instant, burning the back of his hands and branding his chest.

His voice screeched so loud but it seemed only a whisper; all senses were lost except that pain, that searing, radiating pain that seemed to increase tenfold with every fraction of a second.

_Bear it bear it bear it don't fail no don't please just endure it please ohh GOD ohh GOD please please please just end just jus j j-_

_"I can't!_ " N managed to choke through sputtering coughs and choked wails, his words spoken even more quickly than his racing thoughts. "Daru, stop, PLEASE, please, please I can't I can't it hurts _please stop_!"

Cringing, Daru contained the fire and rushed over to his friend as he collapsed, writhing and screaming to the floor.

By now the other pokemon in N’s care had come rushing in, but stopped in their tracks as they were met with the sight of their beloved human, tendrils of smoke rising off his chest and hands, filling the room with the acrid scent of burnt flesh.

With tears soaking its fur, Daru struggled to explain the situation to them over the boy’s cries, though it only proved to dismay them further. Zorua was the first to act, quickly transforming into an Audino and showering N’s body with the strongest Heal Pulse it could muster. It would not mend the wounds completely, but it would help.

N’s blackened skin slowly began to fade into rippled scar tissue, and once it had closed up and stopped bleeding, Vanillite hopped forward and gently blew frigid air over the patches to numb them. Their heartfelt efforts felt in vain; N had already fallen unconscious.

 

The boy woke in a daze, pain returning immediately in his torso that radiated through his limbs. His scorched hands trembled as they reached over his chest, the texture of rough and warped skin so unfamiliar under his fingertips. The tightness of N's half-healed scarring was agonizing as he stood up; blood began to bead around cracking scabs with each step, every movement of muscle sparking the sensation of ripping and tearing of his flesh.

N stood before his mirror and instantly burst into tears. His once immaculate skin was now unrecognizable, replaced by dark crimson, mottled ridges and patches of open wounds. As much as he had assured himself that this was going to be okay with the scar... this seemed so disfiguring...

Sinking down to his knees in exhaustion, N fought the urge to black out again. It was done now. No turning back. These scars would remain with him forever, as his salvation or his curse.

Noticing Daru’s reflection nearby, N turned to the anxious pokemon and beckoned it near. Even though he was careful to move gingerly, N could not bite back a pained whimper as he took the small round creature and cradled it close against the uninjured part of his chest.

“Thank you, Daru,” he whispered as tears resumed their path down his cheeks. “Thank you so much.”

A tiny poke at his side caught his attention, and looked down to see Zorua nudging him with its chilled nose. In its mouth were a clean shirt and pair of pajama pants. The boy smiled as he released Daru and took the clothing from his friend, his mind eased slightly. His genuine grin did not waver as he dressed himself and stood in front of the mirror once more, slipping cloth over tender wounds. There were no indications, no proof of what had occurred just a short time ago.

 _It will all be worth it_ , he told himself, his confidence lifted as that familiar sense of normalcy returned. _I'll never let anyone see me any way but like this, forever and ever and ever. And that's okay. I'm going to be king, and I will sit on the highest throne and reign over the world and no one will be able to touch me ever again._

_Not even daddy._

Taking a few experimental deep breaths to see how much it would hurt his mending skin, N nodded to himself before heading towards the nest of stuffed animals that served as his bed. He wanted nothing more than to sleep and sleep until he had recovered completely, to escape to his dreams where pain rarely existed.

Just as he was snuggling in with his pokemon, however, the bedroom door opened and the cause of all N’s torment strode in.

“Out,” he said coldly to N’s friends. But they only curled closer, fur rising and defensive growls starting in their throats as they prepared to defend the injured boy.

N was frozen and trembling, stunned by this unexpected development. Why was his father here again? He could not possibly want...

"Disobeying?" he heard his father's unmistakable, falsely curious voice trill. "Please, don't make me have to use force." Spoken with such regret, as if mourning a tragedy... that familiar sick feeling rippled through N as he recognized his dishonest tone.

Bodies shifted, left. The boy suddenly felt cold and so very, very vulnerable.

N’s breath kept catching in his throat as he stared down at the floor, too panicked to think straight. Why now? Why now of all times did his father have to return after having already hurt him once today? He had been counting on at least a few days before seeing the man again. Luck seemed as though it was never on his side.

Ghetsis moved over to kneel before his son, reaching out to tilt the boy’s head up so he could see his face clearly.

“You seem so hesitant tonight, N,” he mused. “What ever is on your mind?”

“I...” N trailed off and bit his lip before trying again. He still could not meet that angered gaze. “I’m really tired...”

Just a glance said that this was indeed true. N looked especially haggard, but there was a deep fear in his face as well.

"You should take better care of yourself," the man said before burying his face into the crook of his son's neck, placing delicate kisses along his collarbone. "We can't have you falling ill now, can we?"

The boy bit his lip harder to keep from whimpering against the gentle caresses. The warm breath that travelled along the edge of his clavicle stirred that uncomfortable jumble of feelings, sickness and terror and arousal rippling through his muscles as his mind fought back his instinctual drive to run. _No, just bear this once more, don't run, don't be stupid, it will be over soon and everything will-_

Teeth sunk into the child's flesh and his jumbled thoughts ceased in an instant.

"N!" Ghetsis pulled back to restore his eye contact. The dazed, almost dreamy look that greeted him was unsettling. "What has you so distracted that you cannot answer your father correctly?"

“I- I’m sorry!” N yelped automatically. “Please... I don’t want to do this again tonight!”

Ghetsis’s eye hardened further, and he firmly grasped N’s face in his hand. “When were you under the impression that you hold any authority over me?”

“No, that’s not...” Fighting the whimper rising in his throat, N struggled to speak properly with his jaw held still. “I’m requesting... please... tomorrow... tomorrow we can...”

“You disappoint me.” Saying nothing else, Ghetsis took hold of N’s arm and pulled the boy to his feet, dragging him away from the pile of toys. That ill feeling had grown tenfold and sent his mind into a frenzy; without warning, his exhausted body gave up, knees buckling and sending his exhausted weight to the ground.

N had assured himself that he could tolerate one more incident like this. He had prepared himself as thoroughly as he could in that short amount of time. Once more, and it would stop. One more time of horror, and never again...

And yet here he was, mentally and physically spent, unable to allow it to happen without a fight. He was too terrified to even curse his own weakness. His defenses were simply too weak. Instincts, adrenaline and blind will were all he was left with, and it would _not_ do.

"Please don't d-"

A violent shove to the floor sent him back into the never-ending cycle once more.

"You leave me no choice." That stoic, matter-of-fact tone almost seemed out of place as N felt his father hold his body to the floor in a frustrated rage. The boy had no time to realize that a hand was now tearing his shirt up towards his head with the intent on undressing him quickly.

By the time he felt the fabric slip over his head and comprehended what had occurred, N could not find the voice to speak. His father's unspoken enmity was enough to stop his heart.

"W-What's this?" Ghetsis stammered as he looked down at the expanse of skin that was N's chest and stomach, now intersected with wounds and dried blood. "How did this _happen_?"

"I... I... don't..."

Ghetsis's hand grabbed the boy by the chin with a grip so tight it hurt, forcing him to lock eyes with his father. They looked like narrow red slits, burning with nothing but undiluted rage.

"Do you think I am _stupid_?!" he roared as tears prickled the edge of N's eyelids. " _You_ did this, didn't you?"

The boy's jaw trembled as he tried to force the words out, words that had so suddenly become lost to him. The grip was dropped for only a moment before a sharp slap struck him hard enough to turn his cheek.

Holding his aching face, N tried to curl into himself, but all the shifting was causing his wounds unbearable pain, and in the end he could only writhe helplessly.

Above him, Ghetsis was more livid than he could remember being in a very long time. Ruined. The boy was _ruined_. His perfect flesh would never fully recover from this; that soft, smooth skin forever blemished with the most hideous of scars.

Reaching out, he grabbed N’s hair and used it to slam his head back against the floor several times, _needing_ to hammer it into the boy’s rotted mind the severity of what he had done.

“You _wretch_! How could you do this to yourself?!” N had gone limp again, dazed from the blows, but Ghetsis continued. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you think you’re playing, but it is _not_ amusing in the slightest. Do you even understand the consequences of this? What possessed you to even _do_ this? Am I not kind enough to you? Do you demand _more_ attention?!”

He had not really cared to hear any answer the child could offer him, but the moment he stopped for breath, N spoke up shrilly, his eyes clenched shut.

“I-I-I just– I just wanted it to stop! I-I thought that m-maybe if I wasn’t p-perfect anymore... you wouldn’t want... to h-hurt me...”

Whatever logic that existed in the statement fell on deaf ears. There was little else the sage wished for than to choke the very life out of his progeny; without any consideration, his hands were wrapped around N's slender neck, crushing the windpipe and muscles and bone. Not even a strangled breath escaped the boy's lips. His cheeks blanched and turned blue as spots circled his vision, his fingers unconsciously curling and twitching as his body fought desperately for oxygen. Ghetsis would not allow it.

"You have proven to be so much of a failure that I have been _forced_ to find your only redeemable use," he spat, hissing through clenched teeth as his hands threatened to snap his vertebrae. "You are given _one_ task, _one_ simple role of being a presentable body to _fuck_ , and you _ruined it_."

Tears streamed from N’s eyes, still closed to the pain as his mind faded to black. He heard his father’s biting words as though through a very long tunnel, but they stabbed him in the heart nonetheless. Though his brain was more than ready to give up, his body only fought harder, and he felt himself bucking wildly, legs kicking the air with waning energy. He tried to tell himself to stop fighting, that it was okay to die now because death also meant it would stop. Just so long as it stopped.

The red tint that had taken over Ghetsis’s vision began to clear as he watched his son die slowly, consumed with agony. It felt good, very good, to have that tiny body struggling through its death throes beneath his hands. Good enough to make him forget the hideous sight N had turned himself into, in fact.

Perhaps the boy was not as ruined as he had thought. Perfection was not merely skin-deep, after all.

As soon as the man's grip on his throat had ceased, N had already fallen unconscious. Seeing no thrill in this, Ghetsis shook him until he was awake, his body wracked with retching coughs as soon as he inhaled. He watched intently as the color returned to the boy's face.

No thoughts ran through N's mind, clouded and fogged by terror and lack of oxygen. Senses still dulled. All that seemed to drive him now was the need to breathe, to live, to _survive_. Was he even alive...? He tried bringing his hands to his neck, to see if daddy had stopped, but his body wouldn't cooperate. So heavy. Every limb numb as he continued to struggle to even fill his lungs.

“You thought you could escape with this? That I would let you have your way so easily? Clearly you do not understand anything at all. You believe you have saved yourself, but in reality you have only managed to seal your fate.” While he spoke he removed the rest of N’s clothing, then started on his own.

“You are no longer worthy of the throne. No longer worthy of the legendary dragon. Your life is a _waste_ , and as much as I would like to dispose of you now, I’m not about to concede defeat against you, pathetic infant. Yet despite your feeble efforts, there is still one thing you are good for. Now let me see you realize how you have doomed yourself.”

As his mind began to clear, the venomous words his father spoke stung more so than that regretful disfigurement ever did. Rarely did Ghetsis ever speak to him, and rarely was it ever more than a command or a comment regarding his body. As much as he assumed his father's true feelings, hearing him seethe them with nothing but passionate revulsion...

In the end, it had all been for nothing. He had only made his situation worse, and now it could never be undone. Why couldn’t his father just kill him, then? Would he never have a moment of peace without knowing that at any moment, it could be stripped away again?

With his limited strength, he tried to dislodge the hand that had returned to take hold of his hair. Dragged up onto his knees, N looked down to see his father’s cock waiting for him.

“Well? Are you going to accept responsibility?”

Shaking and choking back a sob, the boy fought back the darkness that continued to loom in his peripheral vision. No, no, he couldn't pass out again... not now. His punishment would only worsen. N wrapped his hand around the base and lowered his head, concentrating on staying conscious as he mindlessly stroked Ghetsis.

N’s mind was numb, and for that he was thankful. He knew that eventually it would sink in, the consequences of his actions. Whatever happened after that was a frightening prospect, but for now he let himself drift in the haze that was like the confused aftermath of a nightmare.

It was hard to breathe around the large organ in his mouth, and his throat throbbed painfully from being nearly crushed. He wanted to sleep, to be free from the agony ripping through his whole body, as well as from the thoughts nagging at the corners of his mind.

Embracing the numbness, N gave up.

Displeased by his son's growing apathy, Ghetsis grasped the back of his head once more in warning.

"I've taught you better than this."

The threat was ignored as N continued to work to the best of his ability. Hand no longer moving, his tongue no longer fluttering the way the man preferred, the boy was now locked away in the protection of his blank mind. His chest no longer hurt. His lungs no longer ached. He was okay. After performing his duties, he would be allowed rest. The brief thought of the embracement of sleep was enough to almost make him shut his eyes and welcome it.

Curling his lip as he felt the boy grow evermore limp in his grasp, Ghetsis did not even attempt to remain patient. Tightening his grip on the long, soft locks of hair entwined around his fingers, he began to forcibly move N’s head himself, pumping the small mouth around him hard and fast, pressing against the back of the child’s swollen throat.

He felt N resist feebly, but so long as the boy kept his teeth in check it did not matter. Hissing in pleasure, Ghetsis thrust his hips up into the sweet warmth, determined to snap his son out of this stupor one way or another.

The young king gave up fighting quickly as he was yanked from the safe place inside his mind, realizing it only caused more abuse. Crying, whimpering, fighting every instinct to retch, N tried to the best of his ability to move his tongue in some way that he knew would please the man above him. His thoughts had now quickly shifted from dulled to panicked once more as he felt his airways constrict from the assault.

 _Breathe out of your nose_ , he reminded himself as the organ continued to stab at the back of his throat. _Just breathe, breathe, make him happy so he'll leave, make him happy and you can go to sleep…_

Ghetsis roughly shoved N away, leaving the weak boy to crumple like a ragdoll. Grinning to himself, Ghetsis shifted until he was sitting down more comfortably. “We can’t let your pretty little mouth rush the moment, now can we?”

Seeing that the boy did not look like he was capable of getting up on his own any time soon, the man grabbed his arm and dragged the small body up onto his lap, arranging him so that he sat with his back facing his father, keeping those ugly new scars out of view.

Nearly choking on his own rapid breaths, N held onto Ghetsis’s knees and tilted his hips back, needing to get this over with as soon as possible. But despite his mental preparation, his already torn and bruised throat began to bleed when he cried out as his father eased himself inside.

No matter what he did, there was no adjusting to this. His mind felt like it was something solid, something fragile and cracking, ready to shatter at any second. N tried so desperately to seek solace in the recesses of numbness, to lose himself. But his shrieks alone were deafening enough not to allow it; his inability only made him panic further, even if his body was now too weak to move.

Only strong enough to scream.

"I don't even want to _look at you_ ," his father hissed in his ear as N felt his large hands travel up his wounded chest. The force of his hips were enough to keep the child's body moving, enough to continue the violent assault. "You _ruined_ this! Ruined what I worked so diligently to keep pure! Do you know how _hard_ it was not to desecrate this?!"

As Ghetsis spoke, his nails began raking across his son's chest, opening old and half-healed wounds, ripping and tearing at the already tender flesh.

N didn't think know his own voice was capable of becoming so loud.

"DA-DDY! S-STOP-!!" he managed to choke out through sobs, still unsure why he was even bothering. It would've been so much easier if he could just shut himself away. Stop feeling. Stop thinking. Stop trying to run.

"But now... now I can have my way with you as I please..." Nails now ripped deeper, forming new wounds, as pooling blood made every thrust grow more obvious to the boy, the sound of skin slapping against wet skin. "You saved me the trouble of making up another silly lie for your feeble little mind. _Thank you,_ N."

N’s consciousness was fading in and out through a dense haze of pain and dismay. He wondered how he could still be awake at all. It was the agony and the jostling and the razor words that somehow managed to get past the screaming and into his mind.

Never had he been more sure that he was going to die, not even counting the first time. And he _wanted_ to die. Even if it meant leaving his friends alone, they would surely understand. He could not endure this torture any longer.

Large hands slick with blood curled around his own, winding their fingers together in some filthy mockery of support. N could only cling to them, pretend that they were not connected to the man hurting him, and feel his voice finally give out.

It was a shame to not be able to see N’s face, Ghetsis lamented, as the boy lost all hope. But his slim back arched in pain and desperation was a fine enough substitute, especially since he could now plan just how exactly he would ruin that undamaged skin. At least _some_ good had come out of this. A new opportunity to experiment with the boy's tolerance.

Judging by this entire ordeal, it was pitifully low. How _perfect_.

Unconsciously squeezing the small hand within his own as he felt his climax rise, Ghetsis came hard into his son's limp body, taking one final solace in the way N's final whimper came out as nothing more than a strangled cough. He released his grip and felt the body he clung to fall to the floor without any bracing or care. The sage continued to pump into him until he went soft, wanting to relish every moment of the young king's collapse into helplessness. He paid no mind as to whether N was still conscious; he hoped it so, but could not be bothered enough to check.

N’s breath rasped through a torn throat, and the stench and taste of blood was heavy around him. Would he die now? Would it be over? He felt as though he was close to death, but suspected that despite how much pain he was in, he had not sustained a fatal injury. Distantly aware that his father was preparing to leave, N reached out and weakly grasped at the man’s leg.

“Still awake?” Ghetsis pulled away from the small hand to continue dressing. He paused when he noticed N’s lips were moving, and leaned forward in curiosity. “What are you saying?”

N’s voice would not come out, but with the help of his labored breathing, he managed to whisper, “why didn’t… you kill me…?”

Ghetsis chuckled and stood up. “You seem to be full of confidence lately, why don’t you take care of that yourself? But know that I will have no more use for your friends once you are gone. I’ll sell them back to trainers before your body is even cold. Truly you are determined to be a failure to everyone.”

The sage promptly walked to the exit of the toy room, turning to him one last time as he placed a finger on the light switch.

"Whatever you decide... I hope this entire ordeal was worth it to you. I will return again in the morning. You wished to damage your perfection, and I am fully prepared to aid you in your pursuit for total insignificance."

Black.

The boy's bottom jaw trembled before he shut his eyes, feeling his mind give one last resistant thought before the darkness his body so desperately craved overcame him. _Don't even bother sleeping. Give up. Stop this before you've become too committed to-_

No. This pained existence was a punishment worse than death. He deserved it for thinking he was worthy of anything less.

_"Truly you are determined to be a failure to everyone."_

Yes. Truly. Truly, he deserved nothing less than this.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews moderated just because I rarely check this thing anymore and don't get emails for new reviews, so I want to keep things from getting messy. Feel free to leave a review if you're so inclined though~!


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